


everything they say is true

by KaffeineJunkie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beautiful Golden Fools, Episode: s04e10 The Children, F/M, POV Cersei Lannister, Sibling Incest, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaffeineJunkie/pseuds/KaffeineJunkie
Summary: “We all have our little secrets, don’t we, Father?“(Cersei has more to say about her relationship with Jaime, and this time, Tywin is going to listen and Tywin is going to look. Because as we know, confessing feels good under the right circumstances...)
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33





	everything they say is true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [houselannister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/houselannister/gifts).



> If you miss Cersei tormenting people in dungeons and then getting it on hard with Jaime, this one’s for you. 
> 
> I merged show canon with aspects of book canon. Set in episode 4x10 / the beginning of AFFC. Warning: it gets a little twisted, but I mean... it’s the Lannisters, so ... enjoy? 
> 
> For houselannister, who knows I love "Perihelion" beyond measure. The fact that it's coming back this fall is giving me life and I wanted to offer a small token of thanks! So, thanks!

Cersei steps gingerly inside her father’s new living quarters.

Dank, dusty air assaults her nostrils, though the stench is not as overwhelming as she predicted. Not yet, anyway. A day or two from now, that will change. The room is small, suitable for its previous occupant but repugnant to its current one, no doubt.

She took care in selecting his restraints. She didn’t want him kneeling, nor did she want him able to sit, as though he were still judging her from behind his desk, barely glancing up from his correspondence.

As specified, he’s upright, arms shackled above his head, ankles connected by a chain that locks into the wall.

She assumes this position is scarcely tolerable, but Tywin gives no indication of his discomfort. He follows her movements with his eyes, glaring at her as she glides toward him.

She orders the guards to replace his chamber pot and bring down some food; “The scraps meant for the pigs should be adequate.”

The irony is, Tyrion’s the one who gave her the courage to have Father thrown in the black cells. If her treacherous little shit of a brother could find the courage to lift a hand against Father, so could she.

The Imp is long gone, of course. Jaime saw to that.

“I am the only true son you ever had,” Cersei tells him.

#

Jaime’s on his back, sweat-soaked beneath her.

Her palms sear into his chest, fingers spread, pushing him away even as she bounces in his lap, faster-faster, her head lolling forward, her bottom lip swollen, her golden hair swaying, damp and tempestuous.

She curls in on herself, arms shaking in an effort to remain upright, and her hair flickers like a curtain on either side of his face, holding their secret world together, containing it.

He clutches her swiveling hip with his good hand, desperate for leverage, but the more he tries to keep her in place the more she refuses to be kept.

His fingers flex and dig into her skin, leaving marks.

“Cersei,” he groans, a warning in his voice.

_Not yet, Jaime, not yet..._

Did she say it or think it? It doesn’t matter, he heard her all the same.

“I can’t—” he gasps.

She covers his mouth and part of his nose, her hand firm and unyielding.

“You can,” she answers through shallow breaths. “And you will.”

If he takes his own pleasure already, hers will cease and she’s not ready for that. She’s nowhere _near_ ready for that.

She is the rider tonight, not the ridden.

She’s come twice but they were ripples in a pond. Preludes. She’s building toward a wave and she won’t be denied. It’s the one good thing about being a woman, the only good thing.

He can’t breathe, and his mouth goes sharp beneath her palm, little dagger-teeth, so she smears her hand roughly to the side of his face, sloppy and uncaring. His dizziness is not her concern. She’s found the edge of something, something large and all-consuming, and she’ll follow it to the very end.

Let him despair. He’ll only know her better that way.

Her thumb catches against his lip and he sucks it inside his mouth, but she ignores this, closes her eyes, and concentrates. The only thing that matters is the sweet pulse between her legs, rubbing and pushing against the taut skin of his stomach, his cock embedded below like an iron bar. The thick, wet slide of him within her is the only thing anchoring her to this world.

When the wave hits, it demolishes her.

“Uh...!” She wails and thrashes atop him, claws his chest with one hand and pushes his face down with the other. He lurches upward, hips churning wildly, matching her stroke for stroke.

The slap of flesh on flesh, the heated cries... they’ve never been this loud, never.

They fuck as though Father is already dead and they want to make sure he hears them in hell.

#

Tywin glowers at her, towering over her. She flits around him in a circle, taking her time, assessing his shackles. She trails her fingertips along a chain, gives it a cursory rattle.

Satisfied that he poses no threat to her, she stands in front of him.

Tilts her head.

“I didn’t believe them, when they told me who was in your bed. ‘My lord father has no use for whores,’ I told myself. But I also told myself the half man you sired would not escape his fate. Seems I was wrong on both counts.”

Her voice is soft, conversational, to hide the storm brewing inside her. She won’t succumb to her emotions; not yet.

The night is young.

Up on her tiptoes, she inspects the blood-soaked cloth thrust tightly inside his mouth. (To his credit, he’d fought back. For a time.)

“Not just any whore, either,” she tsks. “Tyrion’s whore. Tyrion’s cast-off. I thought, ‘It can’t be true. I won’t allow it to be true.’ ”

#

Jaime toys with her nipple, soft tongue swirling, lips shiny and firm as he works her to an aching point.

She sees Joffrey suckling as a babe, can’t abide it for another instant.

“Stop,” she says, rolling him onto his back again.

They fall into each other, mouths and hands exploring, still exploring, still excited by what they find, as though they haven’t memorized the planes and dips of each other’s bodies by now. She licks a path from Jaime’s neck to his navel, inhaling the scent of his sweat and her own tang and the way the two mix together.

“That tickles,” he complains over a chuckle.

She quivers with laughter, has to bury her face against his side, between his body and the sheets. It’s an oversized reaction but she can’t help herself.

It’s only hitting her now. What she’s done.

He lifts her face, perplexed, worried. She’s in a state, howling, fit to be sedated, and it’s wonderful.

“I’ve had Father’s tongue out,” she says.

Jaime’s gaping at her. “You...?”

“Father’s tongue,” she repeats. “I cut it out.” And if her laughter verges on hysterical, she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care.

“Why?!”

“I decided I’m no longer interested in anything he has to say.”

“You told me he was with Qyburn getting treated for his wound—"

“The Kettleblacks held him down and Qyburn did it on my command. Pycelle refused so I had him dismissed. Useless old lecher.”

“Qyburn?”

“Yes, the man who saved your arm. He’s proven to be quite adept. But you’re missing the point, you idiot.” She traces a pattern on Jaime’s chest. “Father will be dead of sepsis by morning, and he doesn’t have a tongue, so if you want to lecture _him_ for a change, now’s your chance.”

#

He spits out the gruel she placed in his mouth. The spoon falls to the floor with a clatter, kicking up a cloud of filth at her feet.

“Oh dear.” She cringes theatrically. “Lost your appetite? Your sense of taste, perhaps?”

She reaches up and strokes her father’s hair, touching him in a way she never would have dared before.

Tywin’s hair is soft but thinning, nothing like Jaime’s thick, handsome mane. The tepid strands slide through her fingers like water. She combs his hair gently, across the top and around his ear, watching his reaction, curious.

“Jaime has always loved my fingers in his hair. Petting him, stroking him. Ever since we were children.”

Her father grimaces and tries to shift away from her. She tightens her grip at the back of his head and steers him so he’s facing her.

“Perhaps that’s how it started,” she murmurs.

His green eyes blaze like wildfire but the flames can’t hurt her, not anymore. She knows who he really is. A hypocrite, a whoremonger, ruled by his cock, like every other man in the seven kingdoms.

_Not a lion at all._

She can still hear his voice in her head, though, saying _Enough!_ and _You’re a disgrace to the Lannister name_.

It’s enough to make her shudder.

She moves backward several paces, so he can see the full length of her.

“I know what you’re thinking. I do. You’re thinking, ‘Why do I let Jaime inside me?’” She sighs. “Simple, really. I let him inside me because it pleases me.

“It pleases me when he does this...” She touches her breast, lightly, through the silk of her gown. Lets her eyes fall shut. Gives herself a squeeze.

“And it pleases me when he kisses me right here...” Her hand trails down her body, stopping between her legs.

Her eyes snap open and her hand falls to her side. He refuses to look at her and that will not do. That will not do at all.

She moves closer, leans up to whisper in his ear: “But most of all it pleases me that I took him from you.”

He flays her with his full gaze this time, murderous but impotent, shaking his head, shaking his head. Still, after all this time, refusing to acknowledge the truth.

She laughs. “Did you think it was _Aerys?_

“ ‘If you join the kingsguard, you can be near me always,’ I told him. He’s never even looked at another woman. I was a girl and I had more power than you. If you’d harnessed my power, shaped it, encouraged it, imagine what we could have accomplished. I was your firstborn, but you sold me like an animal to be mounted and discarded. You _wasted_ me.”

Fists clenched, pulse racing, jaw tight, Cersei takes a deep breath and slowly relaxes her muscles.

“Do you see me now?”

#

“I had to punish him,” she explains to Jaime for the millionth time. “He let our little brother go.”

“It was me who let Tyrion go,” Jaime says, looking confused.

As though she doesn’t know! As though she’s stupid!

“Obviously,” she hisses.

She slaps him and he takes it.

He takes the second one, too.

By the third slap, he’s hard. She sees it pressing against his breeches.

She winds up for a fourth blow, but he deflects it and fights back, slanting his mouth over hers and thrusting his tongue inside. She moans and pummels his chest, but it’s all part of the dance.

He spins her so her ass is flush against his cock. Rubs himself against her until she writhes and moans.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers.

“Do I want what’s _left_ of you?” she sneers, looking back at him over her shoulder with an expression she hopes is so withering it’ll make his stump ache.

He bends her forward, tears her smallclothes away and sinks inside her to the hilt, the only time she feels whole. The only time she believes herself to be an entire person.

Their instinct lately is to rut on all fours, facing the same direction. Like the mares and stallions in the field, the dogs and bitches in the yard. It reminds them of home. He claims her with a hot drag of his cock, in and out, faster still and faster, frenzied. Even though there’s no need to claim her. They’ve always been one.

“You never used to let me stay the night,” he remarks afterward, as they lie on their backs, chests heaving, wrecked. The fever has momentarily passed but it never really goes away. The instant he’s capable of it, he’ll take her again. She’s gone wet just thinking about it.

She’d prefer if he fell asleep inside her, though, the way he used to do at Casterly Rock, wrapped around her from behind, wedged so deeply in her cunt that even his dreams penetrate her, full of blood and battle.

There’s nothing keeping them apart, now.

#

“Jaime’s spent his seed in me a thousand times,” she says, lips curled, eyes alight with mischief at Father’s disgust. “Robert’s was foul and unworthy, we got rid of them, but a _Lannister_ baby... the quickening, it’s—satisfying.”

His grandchildren, golden-haired and beautiful, are Tywin’s twice over and it’s time he acknowledged it. _Thanked_ her for it.

Lannister blood all the way down.

“We all have our little secrets, don’t we, Father?

“Do you remember our secret? Hmm? I couldn’t have been more than seven when you told me I would marry Rhaegar Targaryen. I believed you, too. Your word was gold.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Jaime is me, and I am him. I get to fuck myself. You only get to fuck whores.”

#

She and Jaime look down on Father’s body in the sept, stones for eyes, wounds cleaned and dressed, face blank and peaceful.

Never taking her eyes off Tywin, she spits venom at her twin. Soft. Furious. “If you’d done what I asked and avenged our son, all this could have been avoided.”

According to Pycelle, Tyrion had already shot Father with the crossbow when Jaime showed up and stopped him from firing a second time, a killing blow.

Jaime reminds her of this, again and again, but what he’s failed to grasp is that the truth is malleable. The truth is what she decides it is.

She shakes her head, resolute. “You’re mistaken. Tyrion is still a Lannister after all, and Father would never have seen him executed. It was Father who set him free. You tried to stop them, tried to shoot the treacherous little monster as he fled, but sadly, your aim isn’t what it used to be. You missed and hit Father.”

She removes the golden pin from Tywin’s cloak and hands it to Jaime. “Others would consider this a reward, but for you...I think it’s fitting punishment.”

Jaime throws the pin to the ground, grabs her by the shoulder. “Don’t ask me to rule.”

“You misunderstand. I’m done _asking_. I’ve stopped asking anything of anyone.”

“You can’t just—"

“It’s already happened. You’ve been relieved of your post, effective immediately.”

His eyes flash. “What did you do?”

Her voice is steel. “A Lord Commander who cannot even stop one escaped dwarf, whose attempt to do so was so poor and ill-considered he ended up shooting his own father? I’m afraid the sworn brothers have lost all confidence in your abilities.”

#

Jaime attempts to call her bluff.

Every. Fucking. Day.

“As hand of the king, I advise you to stop hunting down dwarves or —” He glances inside a threadbare, bloodied sack, and grimaces— “ugly children, at once.”

Tommen is appalled. “Children? Mother, call them off at once.”

“Of course, Tommen. But you’re forgetting something. Lannisters always pay their debts. If we stop the search for your brother’s murderer that will set a dangerous precedent, one we can’t afford.”

“I’m a Baratheon,” he says quietly. Then: “What if we _tell_ everyone he’s been found? Who would know the difference?”

(Margery’s influence, no doubt. Meddling little bitch.)

“That’s an excellent idea, Your Grace.” Jaime, triumphant.

“I see I’m outnumbered,” Cersei demurs. “How about this one, then?” She selects a severed head at random. “It’s good enough for the people, I suppose. They won’t know the difference.”

“Thank you,” Tommen says.

She nods.

Jaime smirks. Because he still doesn’t get it.

She has no intention of stopping the search. She’ll pile dead dwarfs ten feet high before that happens, but Jaime doesn’t need to know that.

She knows enough for both of them.

#

Jaime rages for the better part of a week. He doesn’t _want_ to replace Father, he never _wanted_ Father to die, he _cannot_ _believe_ what Cersei has done.

Her retort is always the same, and it’s unassailable: “You should have thought of that before you freed Joff’s killer.”

He stutters, something he does a lot lately. “I — If you had let Pycelle tend to him, Father might still be alive! It wasn’t a mortal wound.”

“It was for a sheep,” she snaps back.

#

At night, while Jaime slumbers fitfully beside her, she touches herself and revisits their final conversation.

“All these years I blamed Tyrion but _you’re_ the one who tore our family apart. Couldn’t be content with two perfect children, could you? And we _were_ perfect, the four of us.

“Does it keep you awake, wishing you could have controlled yourself with Mother? If you had, she would be alive, your legacy untarnished, your only son where he should be.

“Shall I give Jaime back to you? Would you like that? I could send him away from Kings Landing. I could do it today. Send him back to the Rock, make him my castellan, find him a wife. Is that what you’d ask for, as your last wish? Shall I grant it?

“What’s that? I can’t hear you, Father, you’ll have to speak up.

“Or, nod your head, then.

“Yes? You’d like that?

“What will you give me in return?

“A queen can have anything she desires. But I don’t want baubles. I don’t want trinkets or jewels. I don’t want more land or more titles. I never wanted this cesspit of a city, either, but you didn’t ask me, did you?

“What’s that?

“Anything? Really? You’ll do anything?”

Her father nods, delirious. The crossbow wound oozes bile. He grunts and pleads with his eyes.

“Very well, then,” she says softly. Unlocks the shackles that were forcing his arms above his head.

Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West, falls to the ground in a heap.

Cersei looks down at him.

“Crawl,” she says.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I always wished Tywin and Cersei's confrontation in 4x10 would go on forever, how about you? In the books, it fascinated me the way Cersei absolutely could not accept the fact that Shae was in Tywin's bed the night of his murder; like she fears and hates her father but also puts him up on a pedestal. So I wanted to explore that. Lastly, the concept of Jaime as Hand is delicious to me, no matter how implausible. If I wrote more from that scenario down the road (no promises, life is nuts) would that interest anyone? As always, feedback is love, and appreciated beyond measure!


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